Tame the heat from a serving of hot chicken with sides like pimiento mac and cheese, coleslaw and black-eyed pea salad at Hattie B's Hot Chicken. / Photos by Steven S. Harman / THE TENNESSEAN

Written by

Nancy Vienneau

For The Tennessean

ABOUT

Nancy Vienneau is a chef and retired caterer with 25 years of experience. She cooks and teaches at Second Harvest and blogs about her adventures with food at http://nancyvienneau.com. Reviews are written from anonymous visits to restaurants. Negative reviews are based on two or more visits. The Tennessean pays for all meals.

Some like it hot. And some like it D@!% hot. However you like it, new Nashville hot chicken vendor Hattie B aims to please.

Responding to the growing need for more of Music City’s own lip-searing, tear-inducing, endorphin-releasing delicacy, the Bishop family opened Hattie B’s Hot Chicken in midtown Nashville.

Owners of the popular Bishop’s in Franklin , Nick Sr. and Nick Jr. are well versed in the art of the meat-and-three. The father-and-son team had long been ardent hot chicken fans and decided to master their own recipe. Their version went from an occasional special to a menu staple at the Cool Springs eatery. Now they’ve launched a new dining spot dedicated to the glories of hot chicken and fixin’s.

Just strolling up to the place gives you the right feeling: There’s corrugated metal and chicken wire, strings of lights over a sheltered deck, white-washed picnic tables set with caddies of hot sauces and honey, and rolls of paper towels. It’s got the trappings of a funky yet charming chicken shack, an easy-breezy hang for chompin’ chicken and quaffing beer.

The greater testament lies with the customers. You’ll notice groups gathered at those picnic tables, fingertips already orange-stained, intent on their incendiary wings or drumsticks, heads bobbing in approval.

Step inside the shack. There’s a sweet-hot crackle in the air. There’s more seating, a service counter with an urn of fresh squeezed lemonade at one end and the register at the other. People line up to place their order; the process moves along quickly.

White or dark, wings or tenders: Hot plates and sides are listed on the blackboard. Each plate includes bread and pickles, your choice of two sides and level of heat. Traditional Southern fried chicken is available for those not wanting the burn and rush. Chicken is fried fresh to order, so be prepared to wait the obligatory 15 minutes.

The proof is in the paint: that red-orange cayenne-saturated concoction enrobing the fried chicken with its distinctive and abiding kick. We had four in our group, each ordering at a different intensity: Mild, Medium, Hot and Damn Hot. The experience of fiery spice varies from person to person, and our group was no different.

Baskets of breasts and wings, drumsticks and thighs arrive crackling hot. The pieces are speared with the customary pickle chips and sit on slices of cotton bread, which soak up that ruddy-tinged grease.

Mild has a mere brush of sweet heat. It’s fried chicken with character, and it suited the faintest of heart in our group. At Medium, you’ll notice a perceptible step-up — a slight delay, and then a flash of fire that builds as you eat. You discern paprika and garlic, sugar and salt in the layers of cayenne crust. Two of us are completely content at this level, and two of us want to go for more spice.

Hot is indeed hot, but not at the same potency as the city’s gold standard, Prince’s. Your lips are encircled by a tingly ring-o-fire and a pleasant sense of well-being radiates across your chest.

Damn Hot, deemed too volatile by three of our four, causes a flush, sweat beads across the brow, burning in the back of the throat, tearing and either a declaration of “No more!” or “This is so good; I gotta have more.”

The quality of the chicken is excellent and seems to have benefited from bathing in brine. Underneath that toothsome hot crust, the meat is tender and juicy.

With the exception of the crinkle-cut fries (which, despite their commonness, touch on a childhood memory and are thereby good), Hattie B’s sides are made in-house. Pimiento mac and cheese is creamy, its cheddar sauce flecked with bits of sweet red pepper. Black-eyed pea salad offers refreshing astringency. Shreds of red and white cabbage, carrots and green bell peppers give the tangy coleslaw a festive look and crunch. Turnip greens have bitter bite. Sour cream coats the new potato salad with a welcome cool.

Desserts include home-y banana pudding, a respectable Nilla Wafer-lined bowl that had us wishing for more bananas. You can also get a scoop of vanilla ice cream, which is an ideal coolant to the hot chicken singe.

But if you are a true aficionado, you won’t want to douse the heat, but let its savory burn ebb away, leaving you satisfied yet longing for the next time. That’s the addiction. That’s hot chicken fever.

Everybody’s different. When asked about his customers’ preferences, Nick Jr. said, “We’re in the hot chicken business and most people order it Hot. After that, Medium comes in second, followed by Damn Hot in third. The folks at the table next to yours just had the Damn Hot and told me it wasn’t hot enough.”